Thine Own Mortality
by Snow'sLuckyCat
Summary: John Sheppard has a little “talk” with his conscience after the events of The Brotherhood.


Title: Thine Own Mortality

Author: Snow'sLuckyCat (That's me! LOL.)

Disclaimer: Yet a THIRD time I say this: Me no own. You (TPTB) no sue. That basically goes for everyone ever involved in any process of making SGA a TV show. You know who you are.

Categories: Post-Episode, 1st person POV, and Angst. A LOT of Angst. Need you really ask for whom the angst is for though? ;)

Pairing: None…unless you wanna go by just the last line. lol.

Spoilers: up through to the end of 1x16: "The Brotherhood" ("Underground," "The Storm," & "The Eye" too)

My Inspiration: Many thanks, yet again, go to Shelly, because she hasn't stopped rocking my sox. :) Also -thanks to those of you, besides Shelly, who have deemed one or both of my first-ever SGA fics good enough to review. You know who you are: MandyK (who can have all the choccy Sheps, Rodneys, and Carsons that she wants), nebbyj, Laheara, Xtin2000, Jenn R, Zimbing, highonscifi, and Andrea. :)

Summary: Shep has a little "talk" with his conscience, and gets whumped for his trouble, so…

A WARNING: PHILOSOPHICAL! SHEP ALERT. PHILOSOPHICAL! SHEP ALERT.

AND…SOME VERY IMPORTANT AUTHOR'S NOTES: Shep's regular thoughts are in regular print, while his conscience's thoughts are in italics, hence the reason I'm using a doc, not txt, file to write this. This doesn't start until near the end though.

Oh. Also - The little poem at the beginning is mine. LOL.

XXXXXXX

So - Away we go!

XXXXXXX

No tears are shed

For those of us who're dead.

Living on in people's hearts,

They strive to be unforgotten

And to keep on the righteous march.

XXXXXXX

I still can't believe Markham's gone, just like that.

Blink of a bloodshot eye, Beckett had said. Didn't see it coming, Bates had said.

Apparently, none of them saw the Dart coming in on them until Markham and his co-pilot were already half-fried to a crisp by the explosion that'd tore their ship apart. Nothing could've been done…

Fat chance. I knew, almost as soon as the fateful words were out of Weir's mouth, that had I been here when the Dart first appeared over Atlantis, not back on fuckin' Dagan, looking for a fuckin' rock, both Markham and that kid with him, Smith, would probably still be alive. They would never have gotten blown into a billion bits, nuh-uh, not on MY watch. They'd still be here…with us. Watching our fate flash across the view screen before our very eyes in the forms of three huge hive ships.

Wait. Zelenka and Weir are talking again. They're saying the news gets worse than just Markham and Smith being dead, and the Wraith being officially on the "culling" move again. They say they're coming faster than normal, that they're going to be…here…in a matter of 2 weeks. Two weeks. That's just 14 days separating us from them. Hell, it might as well be TWO days. We are NOT going to be ready to fight back either way.

And that's really the question, isn't it? I'm not READY to die. WE'RE not READY to die. But, are we ready to FIGHT BACK? Can we succeed where the Ancients before us have failed? Can we succeed against an enemy so vast that they probably outnumber every man, woman, and child on this plant 10, 15, even 20, to 1? Is it even possible to put up ANY sort of resistance?

How in the hell are we gonna win the war, if we can't even come close to matching them in sheer size?

I know. I know. Size doesn't ALWAYS matter. Passion, courage, tenacity. Those things are what really matter. Those things are what Markham and that kid with him had. Real courage. Real tenacity. REAL power.

So, they ultimately failed and paid for it with their lives. Shit happens. Death happens. Mistakes? Well, mistakes, they happen too. I just wish that it had been me up there, not them, not the doc, hell, not even Bates. Me…dead, if that's what it took. I didn't want to see anyone else killed. Not senselessly.

Call me the eternal optimist. But, I had originally hoped that we would be able to home. All of us… INCLUDING Dr. Gall, Dr. Abrams, and, yep, I'll even go back as far as saying Colonel Sumner. Now though, in the aftermath of another two biting the dust, I'm finally shaken.

I mean…I'd just been talking to Markham two days ago. The rift that had been between us had narrowed. Sure, we weren't best buds or anything, but I had HOPED to continue that positive trend of seeing things eye-to-eye for at least few more weeks or months or however long the main throng of the Wraith gave us before a widespread attack would begin.

How foolish and misplaced that hope feels now.

XXX

There was no burial this time. No bodies to bring back. No people to notify. I knew Elizabeth wouldn't forget them, just like she didn't ever forget anyone else, living or dead. But, after our short debriefing, she didn't mention where or when or even if a memorial services would even take place this time. From the sound of her voice, I could tell she was exhausted from grieving and from worrying.

I wanted to say something, anything, but she just gave me a hard look, until everyone else had filed from the room. Then, she'd told me to go take a shower because I was the one who looked terrible. Or maybe it was just because I was dirty and sweaty and was stinkin' up the room. She'd never outright tell me if I was though. It's oddly placed, her notion that I look bad and maybe need some rest. Here it was, only a few hours after Markham's death, and she's already back to fretting over my sleep schedule and my cleanliness, and how I look. Don't get me wrong. I'd rather her do that, then call me out on some crap about the chain of command or me disobeying orders and shit, but why is she going all maternal on me…now?

What the fuck?

Later on, I would know that she was probably still shell-shocked, still in a state of denial about Markham and Smith, although you would think she'd be a hardened veteran by now, with everything she's seen or heard. I guess it never gets easier to lose someone when you're a civilian. At least that's what the 'old me' would've thought. The 'new me' has seen the light though, thanks to Weir, Rodney, Zelenka, and Beckett.

These changes to my psyche don't matter one damned iota though, not when two weeks is all I have before everyone I know and love meets their maker, defending this island-city with everything they have left.

Yet, all I can really grasp my head around right at this moment, waling through the halls of the City towards my room, is the fact that there are now 2 less people that I'll truly know. And…

Shit!

Let's face it. Death is becoming a rather nasty habit around here. I go away. Someone, somewhere dies. In fact, it doesn't matter where I am or who I'm with anymore. Hell, I died once myself while away, a fact I now wish I had not brought up, even if it is to myself, in the private recesses of my own mind…

Apparently, I'm getting to be just like Elizabeth, for I can't get past the sudden loss of more team members either. But, whether I cared about them or not, whether I would've done anything or not, I WASN'T HERE to make that choice and sacrifice. So, my hands were tied.

And that is what makes me feel frustrated…like a "tearin' through rooms, punchin' through walls" sort of frustrated, ya know?

I already know, of course, doing anything remotely similar to punching a wall is a futile gesture, a forgone conclusion, and a moot point. Does knowing that make the action any easier to resist? No way in hell. However, wrong as it may be, I need to have a way to balance out all the emotional turmoil roiling in my system. But, not out here. Not in front of all these people milling through the halls…

Just ahead, thank God, looms the entrance to my quarters.

XXX

As soon as I enter the dark bedroom, I see my bed, in all its unmade, rumpled glory. Being in a mostly-civilian outpost light-years away from Earth DOES have its advantages. Like I don't absolutely need to make my bed up. That's another thing Weir doesn't mind…

And, with that thought, the urge to punch a wall fades away, replaced by a sudden urge…to rest a minute. So, I flump down on top of the warn quilt that one of the Athosian women had made for me only a few weeks back, and stare at the ceiling. Yeah, I know. I'm dirty and smelly, and should go get that shower Weir said that I "needed" to take. And I'm planning on doing exactly what I was told…in just a few moments.

About five minutes pass though, with me not an inch to comply. Instead, I'm lying here, scrubbing my smudged up face with a tired hand. I'm not trying to will the dirt and exhaustion to go away though. No. What I'm trying to again will away is the disaster that was Dagan and the horrible consequences the group as a whole has had to endure in my absence. If we had maybe gone there earlier this week or something, I would have been here to help defend Atlantis. Sure, it was only one dart ship, but one is one too many in this line of work.

And then, of course, there's Kolya. Fuckin' Commander Acastus "I Have A Stick Shoved So Far Up My Righteous Ass That I Can't Talk Clearly" Kolya. His ass was so mine, and I let him live…again. Maybe I'm not the vindictive one after all. He is the one who tried to take Atlantis, nearly killed both Weir and Rodney, and seriously tried to maim me. And that was just the last time we met up. This time I shouldn't have hesitated, dammit. This is three times now. Let's hope there's not a next time. Although with my track record, it's amazing we don't have him "visiting" every few days.

Well, anyway, if we hadn't ran into him, we still might not have the ZPM, but we would have possibly gotten back here a lot sooner. I could have at least prolonged the lives of Markham and Smith. And that would've been plenty. Both would be here now, millin' around amongst the rest of us. Today would have only been a minor setback, not the total loss that it is.

But, we'll never know what would've been different had the coulda's and shoulda's panned out. Will we?

Absently, I run my hand up my face and over my forehead, wincing as I discover a rather large knot making its home over my left eye. I'm sure that'll be a helluva bruise tomorrow. And here I thought all I had was a little dirt on my face and hands and a little sweat running down my back to absorb in the elastic band of my boxers. Ah well. It's not like it's serious or anything. And it's not like Elizabeth needs to see me anytime soon. She probably doesn't want to either.

So, maybe, since this bed is just so damned comfortable, I'll take nice…long…nap. Yeaahhhh…

XXX

I don't know what woke me. Nevertheless, I open my eyes to pitch-black darkness. It's even darker in here than before. It must be night now, although how I slept for nearly 12 hours straight is anyone's guess. I must've really been wasted.

The hours I spent working in the sun digging for clues on Dagan had also done havoc to my throat. It still felt like Red Rock Canyon in there. My voice probably still sounded like sandpaper being scratched too. Even now, with the fact that I had more than enough water on-site, I still haven't gotten my voice all the way back.

I'm debating whether or not I should rejoin the land of the living on the other side of that door. I bet no one's gone to bed yet, at least not everybody. There's always someone up and about here, whether they're walking or talking or arguing or discussing. I've gotten well used to it of course, but back at McMurdo it was nice and quiet. And I still sorta miss that solitude sometimes. 'Cuz you don't have to face anybody. You can pretend like you are the only one, and that there's no one anywhere to answer to…

Okay. I'll admit it's a shallow lie to hide behind. Because I did have superiors back there. Then again, I made it a point never to be underfoot for extended periods of time. That way, I avoided reprimands. Most of them anyway. Another problem since I've come here.

I get reprimanded A LOT. And I'm the damned ranking military officer too for shit's sake, which just goes to show that, in front of Weir, everyone's created equal, rank or no rank.

Strangely, her lack of strongly reprimanding me this time is what's bothering me, getting under my skin. We lost Markham and Smith, and it was because we were out of radio contact for hours. Hours that could have been used in far different, more useful ways then digging in the dirt for a rock we would never be able to keep. Or, according to Allina, something we just "weren't destined" to have. What a bunch of bull! …

Dammit! I have GOT to get over this. That nap didn't help me move on at all. It's all there again, boiling back up to the surface, staring me right in the face. Yes, Markham and Smith are gone. However, that does NOT mean I can just shut down and give in. There are hundreds of lives at stake!

That's it. Push it away. Be unfeeling. Remain objective. Be what I never wanted to be growing up. A cold, heartless, callous bastard. Yeah! See how far that gets me around here…

God, I smell like a rancid yak. Yep. Definitely past time for that lovely, hot shower I promised myself.

Standing, I receive another few twinges from my back and head, but that's probably just from all that digging I did on Dagan. Crazy, freakazoid Kolya himself didn't get me this time either. A few good, lucky hits maybe. Nothing major. I have a feeling though this was only because he wasn't up to par from that gunshot wound to the shoulder.

Of course, his being alive at all was a surprise to me. Seriously, I had it pegged that he had bled to death, on the planet at the other end of the Gate's wormhole, all those months ago. Now, rather than making sure he died, I let him alone, letting him go with just another warning, another embarrassing story he can tell the grandkids, another stake in his public relations coffin.

I swear humanity is now just one GIANT pain in my ass. I mean it's really starting to become overrated, what with almost no one else reciprocating my goodwill towards men.

Why, aside from my blatant sense of wanting to believe in the inherent goodness of most people and that little bug in my genetic make-up that allows me to do weird-ass things with my mind, I have no redeeming qualities. None. I don't listen. I hate authority figures. You want the bad seed? I'm you're man, all the way up to the rebellious, bedhead hair. Markham knew that. Bates knows that. Kavanagh REALLY knows that. Hell, Weir knows it too.

So, why do they insist on humoring me? In fact, EVERYONE (except for Kavanagh) pretends they need me, and go as far as to say I'm a good leader. Every time Weir says, "You've done good, John," I wonder who she's trying to convince. Me or herself?

Okay. I mean it this time. Hot shower. Hot shower. Hot shower. Maybe that'll help me relax, 'cuz that nap sure didn't do anything for me. At least it might ease some of the physical aches and pains beginning to make themselves known. Hopefully.

XXX

Dropping trou and pulling my vest off and my shirt over my head on my way to the bathroom, I enter quickly, anxious to stave off the draft that's breezing around my body. I get in, run the water, and start the shower, not even testing it first.

DAMN! Cold! Freezing water spurts down on top of me, making me jump. It scores a direct hit to my scalp before parading its merry way down my back, chest, and shoulders, making my teeth chatter. I swear, if Rodney "I'm a big boy now, so let me shower you with my superior intellect" McKay doesn't quit hogging all the fuckin' hot water in Atlantis, I'll…

_You'll what, big shot! Rain on his parade? Like you did on Markham and Smith's?_

Aw hell. Even my conscience hates me. This is gettin' ridiculous.

Look! I couldn't stop it, okay? I wasn't here…(Oh, jeeze; I've gotten to the point of arguing with it?)

_And who's fault was that? And don't pass the buck to McKay. He might be a know-it-all, but both of you were beside yourselves looking for that blasted ZPM. Neither of you thought about anything else. Neither of you would quit. Ford and Teyla were the same way, but only because of you guys. They were more than ready to give up. However, when your triumph was visibly in your hands, in McKay's hands, what did you turn around and do? You just let it go. All that time. All those lives, gone. And for what? Nothing!_

My turn to be outraged: They had us outnumbered, god dammit! That rebuttal sounds pathetic and pales in comparison, in light of what "my other half" has just said however. It doesn't have the same conviction, the same belief that his words had.

And my conscience knows that too, letting me have it with blast from its two-barrel shotgun, speaking to me in a cold, calm, evil voice.

No. No, they didn't. You could've beaten them back. You could've mowed them down… 

No! Just leave me alone, all right! I failed, okay? I KNOW that. And I don't need you to tell me what I already know or what I could've done differently. I almost had the ZPM…again. And an almost success doesn't count for much in this galaxy, as overrun with ravenous predators like the Wraith as it is.

And, yes, when the stack was up against me, back on Dagan, I caved. Plain and simple. Hasn't been the first time either.

Because of that pacifist move, cave-in, surrender, act of submission (call it what you will), Team Atlantis is back to Square One.

We only have one or two planets left on the list that the alternate Weir gave us. So, chances are slim to none that we'll find the ZPM hidden on either in time to do us any good. We're going to damn well try of course. We haven't got any other options. On top of that, we have to find it way more quickly this time. Especially since I WILL NOT be leaving Atlantis open to any other sneak attacks just for some sojourn on another distant, hostile world, for days at a time.

Decidedly, the Square One that we're back to is looking very different this time around. Instead of dormant, hibernating Wraiths and their quiet, overgrown hive ships, we're facing very active, culling ones and 3 of their huge warships, each with battalions of dart ships at their disposal.

So, yes, until we find one ZPM that we can keep for say longer than 5 minutes, I'd say we're ALL in very…deep…shit…once more. And, yep, it's my damned fault again too.

Fuck. Fuck! FUCK!

XXX

"FUCK!"

I come out of my mind's darkest nether regions, loudly cursing from the very pit pf my gut, not caring who hears it or who it wakes up, if anyone.

Faintly, I hear it then. Weir's voice over the communication system, finally making her announcement about Markham and Smith. Actually, it's the tail-end of it, I realize, as her voice fades away. She had told me before though that she would wait until I returned to the conference room. I had wanted to say something too; I had wanted to say my goodbyes dammit!

Still in the throes of what I've thought in the past few minutes, hours, and day, which lemme tell ya was one heady trip, and add to that Weir not following through with her "promise" to keep me in the emotional loop, I physically start shaking.

Long-forgotten is the freezing water still raining down on my body; long forgotten is the shower that I'm only half-taking. I don't feel any of that anymore. I'm numb.

All I can feel is the frustration, the rage, coursing through my veins. It's taking me over, and this time I'm not halting its advances. I jerk my arm back, intent on punching the wall in front of me. Disoriented, I still haven't realized that I'm in a rather narrow tub with high sides, where I'd previously been trying to wash the grime away.

Of course, I find this all out the hard way, in the very next minute, when I take a step back…

And fall backwards over the tub's edge.

Somehow on my way down though, I manage to snag the shower curtains, in hopes that I'll my descent. But, nope, I still hit the ground like a linebacker In the NFL hitting an opponent who's a fuckin' brick wall, only this time the brick wall's made of smooth, slick marble.

Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop. Bam! The curtain tears away from its holder rings; down we both go.

The first thing that hits is my already-aching head. Should've know that would happen.

Stars burst spectacularly before my eyes and my vision clouds over, fading to white, the color of the curtain now probably laying on top of me.

The last thing I hear is a familiar, worried voice right outside of my room. "John? Are you all right in there?"

Then, I am engulfed completely by the whiteness, which turns black and thick before carrying me away to a place no one bothers me, not even my wayward conscience.

XXXX

END

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So, anyone still reading? (LOL) If so, please review…I have more chocolate Sheps as a reward for those who do. :) Thanks!


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